


She'ol

by neverminetohold



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Ending, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Hunters & Hunting, Hurt No Comfort, POV First Person, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-19
Updated: 2019-12-19
Packaged: 2021-02-24 15:55:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21860545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neverminetohold/pseuds/neverminetohold
Summary: This is my life after the end. It's quiet, simple, busy.
Kudos: 7





	She'ol

The deer has bounded away through the underbrush before I can reach for a second arrow. I rock back on my heels with a sigh, snapping another dozen dry twigs. Up in the tree, a squirrel flicks its tail and chatters. It's laughing at my expense.

The feathers brush my cheek as I line up the shot and let loose. The gray ball of fur tumbles through the branches and lands not far away. Not through the eye, but a solid hit that won't spoil the meat. I pull the arrow free and stuff it into my game bag. Together with the tubers and greens it will be enough.

Katniss had been right, my heavy tread is enough to startle the game in a mile-wide radius, suicidal squirrels aside. I can't even blame it on my leg, though the creak in its joints gets worse with every winter. I can clean it, but what it needs is proper maintenance.

I set out to find a promising animal trail. It doesn't take long to spot droppings and a tunnel made of grass. I set a few hitch-up snares, but without hope. I'm still not much of a hunter. My stump begins to protest with sharp stabs of pain, so I turn back into the direction of District 12.

Through the canopies, the sky is a glowing expanse of a dozen shades of orange and yellow that deepen into carmine, with just a hint of darkening blue. My favorite color - except that the sight of it is now forever linked to flames and screams and thousands dying.

The blood begins to rush in my ears, chasing my heartbeat, and my stomach churns and cramps. I can smell it: burning hair and flesh and smoke. I bend over, hands on my knees, and swallow down bile, forcing myself to take deep breaths.

The air that floods my lungs smells of late summer, the sweet fragrance of flowers mixing with coal dust. There's a skull, grinning right by my feet. The meadow is full with them, the road and ruins of District 12 even worse.

It's night by the time I manage to tear myself away from the memories and stumble into my house in the Victors' village. It's the only building left standing, a white shade looming in the dark.

The soft whir and hum of a camera welcomes me as I cross the threshold and close the door behind me. They are installed in every room, throughout the district, and in the woods.

I toss the carcass into a waiting bucket with water, then wash my hands. I peel the tubers and chop them into neat squares that end up in a pot together with mint leaves and what stringy meat is left after field dressing the squirrel.

The stove is the only source of light and warmth in the kitchen. My day's work is enough to fill a single bowl, the simple stew a poor imitation of what Greasy Sae used to serve in the Hob.

I sit down at the table and chew and swallow mechanically, only pausing to drink some water. Katniss sits opposite me, eating a cheese bun with relish. Her body is fringed with a soft gleam and her gray eyes never blink.

I try to ignore her, but the sight of her still makes me angry enough to grind my teeth until the taste of blood overwhelms that of mint and game.

Katniss Everdeen, the girl who burned to ashes, taking five Districts with her. Gone are Three, and Eight, and Twelve, and Four, and Thirteen. And the Capitol stands stronger than ever. Because President Snow had only pretended that he had failed to learn the most important lesson the Dark Days had to teach: self-sufficiency.

The Capitol can't be dependent on the Districts, their resources and products, because if it is, the inhabitants only need to work up the courage to band together and attack. It's a fragile system.

The truth was that they had it all: energy, clean water, food, medicine, technology, weapons, military forces. What they took from the Districts had been a welcome bonus, nothing more.

Life in Panem, outside the Capitol? Just a perverse game of entertainment, and punishment for an Uprising that could never succeed again. But the rebels learned that hard truth far too late.

Katniss smiles, a sweet smile, that catches my attention because I'm certain she never looked at me like that while she was still alive. Snow made me watch her mock trial and execution. Had me run the show with Caesar Flickerman, dressed in matching white suits with red ties, all marks on my skin erased by their treatments and makeup.

It was the first execution but not the last. I co-moderated every single one and then watched on the screen as the Districts were erased. Being the Capitol's darling worked out a little too well for me.

I swallow the last spoonful with some difficulty. My mouth is dry and throat tight. Katniss begins to hum and it turns into that morbid love song about a hanging tree. Her father's leather jacket gleams golden around the edges.

The fire in the stove dies and I light a lamp. I wash the dishes in the sink, concentrate on the simple task. It keeps my mind and hands busy. The whole house is always spotless.

No one has told me what is real or not for eight years now. It doesn't bother me as much anymore, the flashbacks or hallucinations. They fill me with dread or suspicion, but they always vanish given time.

As the Games have proven, you can get used to anything.


End file.
